Faded Moonbeams
by Titania of the Fae
Summary: COMPLETE. There are some who can see behind the velvet curtains of the dark and lay their eyes upon the shimmer of hidden moonbeams. Woe to those who realize this too late... An EC fic, though maybe not in the way you expect...
1. One: Nocturnal Concerto

**Disclaimer:** I own zip, zilch, and nada. All characters are copyright their respective owners. I own only the words, in this particular order, in this particular story. So don't sue me. P

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**Faded Moonbeams**

_**Chapter One**_

_"A nocturnal concerto, candlelight whispers me where to go…" __Nightwish - Astral Romance_

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Night. A time of secrets, of sounds and scents unknown. Since the earliest of times, there have been those who have feared the night. It's mystery and it's glory. But most of all, the masses have feared the danger of the night. The innate human knowledge that the dark of night covers all that the psyche holds in contempt. Yet, there are some who can see behind the velvet curtains of the dark and lay their eyes upon the shimmer of hidden moonbeams. The black world entices them away from the white, pure world of the sun. Some realize where their heart truly lies and come to Night's beckoning hands calmly and quietly. There are also the more innocent, the more naïve, who run kicking, scratching, and screaming from the ethereal embrace. Woe to those who realize their affinity and passion for the darkness too late. For Night is a fickle creature who will kill just as quickly as she will embrace.

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The pale moonlight glimmered across the fields of cultivated roses as a single sound echoed across the night. A light _swish_ of fabric against the sighing of the wind. For if one were to take a closer inspection of the garden, they would see a young woman moving between the throngs of sculpted nymphs and gods. Her face, however, could fool any mortal, for although quiet breaths escaped her every so often, she held an expression of constant melancholy. Oh yes, she would smile and she would frown. She could anger and she could contemplate, but her eyes forever held an uncomprehendable sadness. She was a child of the twilight, forever hanging on the balance between light and dark, day and night.

She made her way to the center of the rose garden, to an ancient bench of white marble almost covered in vines. It was a nightly ritual, she would come out here to be alone. To mourn for the life she had, the life she lost, and for the fact that she could never have led either one happily. She was safe and secure in this life, that was certain. She was loved and doted upon by her husband, she had everything her heart should ever desire, yet she did not have _all_ that her heart yearned for. She would admit readily that she was a selfish creature, and had done so often in her nightly vigils within the confines of the garden.

She yearned to sing for the masses, she yearned to fly away from the stiff life of the aristocracy, and she yearned to see her maestro one last time. None of these would ever be and she would always silently mourn the deaths of her fantasies. For a noblewoman could not be a prima donna- the two lifestyles were utterly incompatible. She could never run from society as she had sacrificed too much. She couldn't change her decisions and so she would be strong and live through them. Her last wish, however, had died three years ago. For one can not return to see the dead.

She silently called out for him in the darkness, as she did every night. She never received an answer. Yet tonight there was something in the air. She could feel it cover her, embrace her, and silently beckon her. She could almost smell the candles, the music, the memories. And, as a young woman drifted off into the bliss of nostalgia, the wind sighed a little louder and the sounds of the night ceased to exist. Her eyes opened as the wind formed words in a voice familiar as her own.

_"Christine…"_

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**Author's Note:** Hey, thanks for bearing with me! I know this chapter didn't really go anywhere- probably a bit too much description and imagery, but I tend to do that. Please leave reviews as this is my first fic for this fandom. Love it? Hate it? Totally unoriginal? Let me know!


	2. Two: Embroidery of Stars

**Disclaimer:** I own zip, zilch, and nada. All characters are copyright their respective owners. I own only the words, in this particular order, in this particular story. So don't sue me. :-P

**Story Note:** I figure I should point out what version of the story this is based on, eh? It's mostly ALW with bits of Leroux thrown in. No Kay here… as I can't seem to get my hands on the book anywhere :-P

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**Faded Moonbeams**

_**Chapter Two**_

"_Embroidery of the Stars_

_Undress my feelings for this Earth_

_Send me your salve to heal my Scars"_

_Nightwish - Astral Romance_

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_"Christine…"_

Her head snapped up suddenly. If she hadn't known better, she could have sworn her name had been called across the wind. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she carefully scanned the confines of the rose garden.

_Who could be out at this hour?_ she silently bemused_, Well, save for myself, of course…_

Another glance about the garden told her what her mind already knew- no one was there besides herself. Her only company were the sculpted angels, forever trapped in their joyous singing and trumpeting. Rising from the intricate marble bench, she carefully smoothed out her gown and began to make her way out of the garden. She had just about made it to the wrought iron trellis near the entrance, when the gusts suddenly picked up in full force, sending her carefully coifed curls into utter disarray. As she struggled to keep her hair under control, a single voice echoed quietly, somberly, against the wind.

_"Christine…"_

She could not ignore the sound this time. Her head whipped around and she leveled her gaze towards one of the statues in the garden. A lone angel, set apart from the others and entangled in a patch of unruly vines and roses, stood silently in a dark corner of the garden. Yet, the moon shone unabashedly upon the scene. Why was this one area absent from the light? She squinted her eyes, trying to see through the shadows, behind them. She began to desperatelytry to explain theirpresencewithout delving into the realm of fantasy and the impossible. For a moment she thought she saw them move with a fluid grace. Was that a faint fluttering she heard upon the breeze? … a fluttering of rich, warm, darkfabric?

There was no mistaking that voice on the wind, for she had never met another soul alive with one as intriguing. And the only soul she knew who owned that voice was…

"My Angel…" she whispered shakily, not trusting her voice as she began to slowly move towards the statue and it's accompanying cloak of darkness.

_"Christine…"_ was the answered the wind returned to her over and over again.

_"Christine…"_

"Christine!"

Christine jumped, quite startled, as she heard the worried voice echo behind her as strong hands grabbed her shoulders. She shook her head slightly, as if waking from a trance and turned around to discover exactly who her assailant was. A slightly bedraggled, worried Raoul stared back at her.

"Dear, what _are_ you doing out here at this time of night? You shall make yourself ill if you do not start getting sleep." he lightly caressed the area beneath her eyes, which she knew held dark circles, with his thumbs as he spoke. "These nocturnal walks are not good for your health…"

"Yes, I know," Christine replied, plastering a smile on her face, "I've just been so restless lately, and walking through the gardens _does_ comfort me…"

Her husband noted that her smile did not reach her eyes, but said nothing of that. Instead, he genuinely grinned at her and said teasingly, " Well, then, perhaps we shall have to look into cutting your walks a little short…" He gave her a small embrace, meant to comfort, and began to lead her back towards the manor.

Christine accepted the embrace and simply gave a small laugh as she allowed herself to be led home. However, she couldn't resist one look back at the statue before she left. The angel stood innocently, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that night. But Christine knew differently. The night was cloudless and the moon hung in the sky as it had for the past hour or so.

…The shadows that had embraced the statue mere seconds ago were gone, leaving the entire scene bathed in an ethereal moonlight…

**A/N:** First of all, I'd like to say thank you to you guys who sat through my last chapter and were kind enough to review. I truly appreciate the feedback and hope this chapter was more enjoyable than the last. As always, leave me a note and let me know how you're liking the story- feedback is always a helpful thing. Until Next Time!


	3. Three: Dwelling in Woe

**Disclaimer: **I own zip, zilch, and nada. All characters are copyright their respective owners. I own only the words, in this particular order, in this particular story. So don't sue me. :-P

**Story Note:** I figure I should point out what version of the story this is based on, eh? It's mostly ALW with bits of Leroux thrown in. No Kay here… as I can't seem to get my hands on the book anywhere :-P

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**Faded Moonbeams**

_**Chapter Three**_

"_The night wish I sent you centuries ago_

_Has been heard by those who dwell in woe"_

_- Nightwish - Astral Romance_

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"Perhaps you just need to get out of the house more often, darling" Raoul stated the next morning. He casually glanced up from the paper to look at his wife, who in turn was gazing out the large windows of the parlor with an almost wistful look painted upon her lovely face. She was a vision in pink silk this morning, with her chestnut curls piled atop her head in the latest fashion. Delicate fingers absentmindedly twisted a strand of pearls he had bought her for their anniversary the year before. Yet, she made no response to his comment and continued within her own personal reverie as the sunlight glistened across her.

He coughed lightly to get her attention, but his subtle actions seemed to have no effect. Sighing, he set his paper down and walked quietly over to the plush velvet window seat on which Christine was seated. It wasn't until he actually placed his hands on her shoulders that the spell was broken. She gazed up at him as her eyes slowly unclouded from the pool of memories she must have been bathing in. A little smile crossed her face as she innocently asked,

"I'm sorry, dear… I was lost in thought. What were you saying?"

"This is exactly what I was speaking of! You barely acknowledge the world around you anymore, Christine! Sometimes I swear that the entire house could be going up in flames, and you'd still be sitting here, gazing nonchalantly at the inferno!" he sat down next to her and stared fervently into her eyes. What had happened to the bright, cheerful girl he had known by the sea? Where was the woman who shared with him so many emotions at the Opera? He was lucky if he could get a genuine smile from her these days…

He gently embraced her as he continued, "When I return from my trip, we shall take a long holiday somewhere. Perhaps that will renew your spirits? We will go anywhere you wish… Paris, London, anywhere Christine! Would you like that?"

She stared back at his piercing blue eyes and simply replied, "Yes, that sounds wonderful…" That was all he would receive from her, but for now that was enough. He would take his wife somewhere wonderful, somewhere far away from here, and remind her of how joyous life could be. Perhaps he would take her to the sea, she had always loved the sea…

Christine watched in silence as her husband lightly kissed her cheek, and then departed from the room… no doubt with the intention of making plans for their impending trip. A light sigh escaped her lips as she, too, rose from the window and made her way towards the door. She couldn't let herself dawdle when she had important business to attend to.

_Yes, oh how important it is to prepare for a social gathering_, she scoffed silently, _why, if my hair isn't perfect and my dress not flamboyant enough, Raoul's circle of friends may disown him as they have no tolerance for me even when I look just like one of them…_

As she moved past her husband's favored chair, her eyes rested upon the forgotten newspaper. How she hated those things, all they did was bring bad news. Why, she hadn't touched one since that fateful day three years past.

_She had walked into the parlor with a book, ready to waste the afternoon reading romantic tales of life and love while her husband was off on some errand or another. While walking over to the window seat, she noticed the paper haphazardly left upon the chair. Smiling to herself on account of Raoul's uncanny ability of never being able to put things back where they belong, she moved to place it on the end table. Of course, nothing could ever be so simple, for somehow instead of cleaning up, she had spilled the contents of the paper all over the rug. She began to pick up the papers, casually scanning the contents, mostly politics, when her eyes caught a sentence that should not, would not have stood out to anyone but her. For there, in small print near the bottom of a page were the words "Erik is dead."_

No, papers were nothing but horrid things which depressed people with the state of the world. So, the young woman continued her journey out of the parlor and made her way upstairs to prepare for that evening's party. It would be her last before Raoul went away on business- and, of course, he would want her to make an impression.

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The Comtesse de Chagny admired the work of her maids as she always did. Somehow, time after time, they were able to turn a little opera girl into a woman of the nobility. Alone in the room, she made a few faces in the mirror, trying to find the perfect one to appease the masses tonight. It was quite a bit like acting, this façade of the aristocrat, but somehow she had yet to perfect the role. Sighing, she moved over to the dresser where she had laid her gloves and fan. With the finishing touches completed, she took one last glance in the mirror. Yet, what greeted her was more than a girl in fancy dress and jewels.

There he was, leaning against her bedpost, arms crossed in a noncommittal way, clothed in darkness and shadow as he had always been. His face betrayed no emotion as he silently unfolded his arms and beckoned to her reflection with one gloved hand. A single word escaped his lips, although Christine wasn't quite sure they had actually _moved_.

_"Christine…"_

Her head whipped around to stare at her bed, her first reaction to yell at him of the impropriety of being in her room in the first place. However, no one leaned against the bedpost, save for the velvet curtains of her canopy. A glance back towards the mirror confirmed that no one was in the room, except herself. She placed a hand lightly to her head.

_I'm finally losing it_…

Her name again echoed throughout the room, but this time without any ethereal quality. She turned her head towards it's source to see her husband standing there, smiling happily at her as he offered his arm.

"Shall we?" he asked teasingly.

And so, Christine shook off her unease and slipped her mask on once more. A saccharine smile graced her lips as her husband led her out of the room, down the stairs, and towards the waiting carriage.

**A/N:** Thanks go out to Tracy Davis, bobmcbobbob1, and allegratree. Your reviews keep me motivated! That's all for now! Leave any comments, criticisms, or anything else! I always appreciate it!


	4. Four: Take my Hand

**Disclaimer: **I own zip, zilch, and nada. All characters are copyright their respective owners. I own only the words, in this particular order, in this particular story. So don't sue me. :-P

**Story Note:** I figure I should point out what version of the story this is based on, eh? It's mostly ALW with bits of Leroux thrown in. No Kay here… as I can't seem to get my hands on the book anywhere :-P

**A/N: **slight revisions here- as the word smirk really _is quite overused_ in fanfiction. That and I seemed to have forgotten Erik wears a mask… so it'd be kind of hard to see his features soften, etc.

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**Faded Moonbeams**

_**Chapter Four**_

"_Dust of the galaxies take my hand_

_Lead me to my beloved's land"_

_- Nightwish - Astral Romance_

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It was a lovely party, she would say. Simply lovely, perfect in every way. She would sweetly explain that this was how she wished every evening could be- filled with gossiping ladies and frivolous dancing. Yes, how could anyone deny that this kind of life was wonderful? Simply wonderful, she would tell her husband, perfectly and utterly wonderful. What she would truly wish to tell him was that she thought it was utterly _boring. _Not just boring, but that her circle of "friends" was, in reality, _utterly vapid_. But, no, she would never tell him those things, negative thoughts were not what he would wish to hear. For then he would spout nonsensical statements about how she needed to reacquaint herself with the beauty and joys of living. And _that_ was something which _she_ did not wish to hear.

Thus, she continued the party in this way, playing the part of the simpering, lovely, although perhaps a bit aloof, Comtesse de Chagny. However, any actress can quickly tire of a role she dislikes and Christine was no exception to this rule. A sudden intermission was necessary, and so she not so subtly excused herself from some inane conversation and made her way through two glass doors and onto the portico. As she stared out into the moonlit gardens and walkways below, she let her mask drop for the first time that night. Her forehead fell forward into her waiting hand as exhaustion overtook her. How much longer could she bear to put on this act?

"Not enjoying the party, _Comtesse?_" a voice whispered from the shadows.

A gasp escaped her lips as Christine slowly lifted her head and turned towards the corner of the portico. He stood there looking every bit the aristocrat in his fine suit and expensive cape. The only aspect which set him apart was that strange mask- reflecting the little moonlight that could penetrate the shield of Night he held around himself.

Christine could not help but stare. He was here, at a party for the rich and titled. Had he been to other gatherings before and simply not taken the time to greet her? No, that was impossible! Nearly as impossible as it was for her to form any semblance of a sentence at that precise moment. Finally, her mind began working again, however slightly, and she was able to choke out a broken question.

"What… what are you _doing here!"_

His exposed lips tilted up slightly as he replied. "Why, exactly what you are doing here! I'm simply enjoying an evening of dance and conversation with the French aristocracy! Whatever else do you presume I'd be doing here?"

He was mocking her. She hadn't seen him in all this time and he felt it necessary to _mock her_. Well, she would not take this lightly! "Oh, of course!" she replied, a hint of venom in her voice, "Because we both know how much you _enjoy_ the company of the human race! Tell me, is it a common occurrence for you these days? Perhaps as common as it is for you to suddenly appear in _ladies' bedrooms!_"

Over exaggerated shock tinged his voice as cold amusement glittered in his eyes. It seemed as though no warmth or flame could ever melt their frosty depths. "Why, my dear, _whatever_ do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean!" she cried, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, "I saw you!"

"Are you certain it was me, and not just your mind deluding you?" he asked quietly, "Perhaps I am just another figment of your imagination Christine. Am I flesh and blood or am I simply an illusion?" The ice in his eyes appeared to melt slightly as he held out one richly gloved hand. "Come, Christine. Discover for yourself whether I am fantasy or reality."

She began to cross the distance between them- her large eyes never deviating from his glowing amber ones. She couldn't have been more than a foot away when another voice suddenly broke the heavenly silence.

"_Madame de Chagny!_"

Christine turned to find her young hostess staring at her, a bewildered look upon her innocent, round face. "Madame, I thought it was you I heard out here! The Comte is looking everywhere for you," she hesitated before continuing, "who are you speaking to, anyhow?"

"Oh, I was only speaking with-" Christine turned back to look at her tormentor but, upon finding nothing but darkness in his place, allowed the words to die in her throat. "No one of any consequence."

The young woman gazed at her quizzically, but said nothing as she led the Comtesse back into the ballroom and towards her husband. He was waiting for her, offering his arm as he mentioned something about "an excellent party" and "must be on our way" to the young hostess and her husband. Goodbyes being said, Christine was led out to the carriage once more. Raoul chattered on about the people he had met that night and the conversations he had held with them. Christine merely nodded her head throughout the discussion he was having with himself, her thoughts still back on the moonlit portico.

She could still hear his voice echo through her mind. _Perhaps it is only your mind deluding you. Fantasy or Reality, Christine? Fantasy or Reality?_

**A/N: **Well, this story won't be much longer now. I've had the last scene in my mind since I posted chapter two, it's just getting there that is the adventure! Special thanks go out to the following:

**Tracy Davis:**Yep, Erik keeps pulling a disappearing act and Christine thinks she has a screw loose. Don't worry, all will be explained in due time wink

**Allegratree:** Thank you sooo much for pointing out the little problems with the last chapter. I went back and tried to fix it after receiving your review, actually. I've never been much of a proofreader

**Everyone else: **As always, Read and Review, let me know what you think, and I hope you're enjoying this little tale!


	5. Five: Eternity

**Disclaimer: **I own zip, zilch, and nada. All characters are copyright their respective owners. I own only the words, in this particular order, in this particular story. So don't sue me. :-P

**Story Note:** I figure I should point out what version of the story this is based on, eh? It's mostly ALW with bits of Leroux thrown in. No Kay here… as I can't seem to get my hands on the book anywhere :-P

**A/N: **Chapter Four was revised slightly. Just a few revisions regarding Erik and the fact that it's kind of hard to see his features. Those finals must have stressed me out more than I thought…

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**Faded Moonbeams**

_**Chapter Five**_

"_The distance of our bridal bed_

_Awaits for me to be dead"_

"_Caressed by the sharpest knife_

_I asked you to be my wife"_

_- Nightwish - Astral Romance_

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She was alone in the great de Chagny manor. Well, not entirely alone, for every so often a servant would scurry past her on one of their great missions which kept the household running smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that Christine had little to do but lounge about or take idle walks through the gardens. The maids were no company to her for they had immediately judged her as quite cold upon her arrival. Of course, at the time, this was utterly untrue. She was only shy and hadn't quite yet adjusted to her new lifestyle among the nobility. One could also argue that she never _had_ become accustomed and that over the years she _had_ developed an air of detachment. Christine's lack of friends never truly bothered her, anyhow. For, while she wasn't very attached to any ladies of the aristocracy, it also just wouldn't do for her to delve deep, dark secrets to a maid either.

At least, her lack of confidantes had never troubled her until now. Left to her own devices, Christine begun to see bits of her mentor in anything and everything. A vase of innocent, pink roses appeared blood red as she passed by, only to show their true color when went back for a second glance. Browsing a section of well read titles in the Library brought back images of reading another's well-read tomes in a library which shouldn't even have existed where it did. Once, Christine even thought she heard ghostly melodies emanating from the piano in the parlor- the piano which no one knew how to play. She had run into the little room madly, only to find an empty space. Her imagination fancied she had seen the ghost of fingertips moving skillfully across the ivory keys. Her logic, however, told her something entirely different. It told her she must be going mad.

However, Christine was still skeptical about this new development her logic had created. If she truly _were_ going mad, would she still have enough capacity to _inform herself_ of her own madness? If her visions of Erik were simply imaginings of a deluded mind, would her vision actually _tell her_ that he might possibly be her own fantasy? The implications only served to make her head ache, and then a bit of fresh air was the only remedy which could ease her wandering mind.

And so, when her mind began chattering in the dead of night, Christine decided she would "get out of the house" as her husband recommended so many nights ago. She would take another moonlit walk through the gardens of the de Chagny manor.

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Her troubled mind had decided that she would take a short stroll close to the house, her wayward feet, however, had other destinations in mind. Thus, this was how she found herself beneath the ivy adorned trellis, at the gate of a world where granite figures endlessly danced through the perfect roses. The starlight and moonlight glinted off the many colors manifested there. Purest white, virginal pink, sun kissed yellow. A strange anxiety gripped her heart, a restless sensation which made Christine want to run straight from that heavenly peace. But her feet once again disobeyed, bringing her to the ancient marble bench, it's legs carved lovingly with images of springtime and sunshine.

She could sense the shadows begin to close in around her, but she dared not turn around. She would not allow the last strands of sanity which she still possessed to be ripped from her fragile grasp. She kept her eyes firmly upon her clasped hands settled within her lap, even when she imagined she could feel a breath against the back of her neck. Her delusion certainly had no concept of proper personal space, but then again, did the original ever hold that concept in high regard? A soft breeze began to caress her loose curls as the voice once again teased her logic.

"I have been waiting for you."

"No, you have not, for you do not even exist. You only say that because it is what my own mind wills you to." she replied, although she immediately regretted it, for what use is it to argue with an illusion?

"Poor, impressionable Christine," the voice replied in imitation of sympathy, "after our last discussion, have you come to believe I am only an illusion?"

"What else could you be, other than an illusion? You should not be here." She noted that she continued to converse with her own delusions, but perhaps somewhere she hoped that her logic was incorrect. Somewhere she longed to believe that he truly stood behind her in all his dark glory.

"But I am here-"

"-you should not be here because you are _dead_."

"Ah, yes," the voice said with a hint of anger as Christine felt a light touch stroke a misplaced curl, "and _you_ should have kept your _promise._"

"And you believe Raoul would have happily let me return to your personal dungeon?"

The voice was testing her, beckoning her to just turn around. But she would be damned if she lost the remains of her sanity just because she lacked the will. So instead she began examining her fingernails as if they were the most interesting objects in this world. That is, until another object blocked her vision.

"You continue to believe I do not exist. Tell me then, Christine, does _this _exist, or is it only your fantasy as well?"

A blood red rose now hovered before her gaze, begging for her to simply reach out and touch it. She allowed her fingertips to lightly caress the petals, and they were real- oh, so real. No flowers this dark grew in the beautiful garden of the de Chagny's. Only one person had ever given her such roses- dark as night, picked only just as they were beginning to bloom, and that person was now holding this gift in front of her, his gloved hands a stark contrast to the emerald stem, devoid of thorns. And this is how the Comtesse de Chagny's will crumbled as her gaze moved up that night clad arm and behind her until she was staring into a pair of amber eyes. Eyes which seemed to burn into her soul.

"My Angel," she whispered, "oh, my Angel, I have missed you so."

He said nothing, only began to slowly back away from her place upon the bench.

"Oh, no! Don't leave me again!" she cried as she stood up abruptly, "No! I have been so unhappy, I can not bear to live this life any longer- especially not when I know you are out there somewhere! Not when I will never be able to speak with you again! Please." A solitary tear trickled down her cheek as she slowly moved towards where he now stood.

He extended his hand to her once more, silently beckoning her to him. "Then come away with me Christine."

Her gaze flickered between his hand and his eyes, and what she saw in those glowing orbs was hope. Pure, undisguised hope.

"Come away with me, for I can not stay here…"

The perpetual haze that had clouded her eyes for the longest time seemed to fade. It was as if she could see clearly for the first time in her life. As she moved closer to him, the corners of her lips began to tilt up slowly, until a genuine smile crossed her features. A genuine smile which melted away the uncomprehendable sadness which had always lingered within her eyes.

And so, our Persephone gave her hand and allowed her lover to lead her through the velvet curtain of the Night, towards his moonlit Elysian fields beyond the garden of cultivated roses.

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The servants found her there early the next morning. Anyone would have agreed she looked like the sleeping princesses of ancient tales and legends. She lay in the middle of the roses, a bed of jade, crème, ruby, and gold, her chocolate tresses entwined with the crawling ivy. The simple ivory dressing gown she had been wearing shone opalescent in the fading dawn, drops of dew appearing like diamonds. Upon her face was an expression of utmost peace. No one could have disagreed that she had ever looked lovelier.

For in all the years they had served her, never once had her crimson lips been parted in such a smile, as if the object she clutched to her heart was the only thing that had ever truly brought her joy. For there, against her breast, was a rose so dark it could have been made of midnight. The entire ordeal served as an affair of utter confusion to all present, save for the sculpted beings in their eternal state of euphoria. If the mortals had only stopped to listen, they would have heard a haunting Requiem playing across the gardens and a clear ethereal soprano singing along.

_Fin._

**A/N: ** Thank you to all those who reviewed and left their thoughts during this story. They definitely kept my motivation up _and_ helped to point out certain errors here and there. I will forever appreciate it. Forgive me if the ending is not to your liking- I _do _adore E/C fics where they find each other and "through a lot of trials end up happily ever after and yadda yadda yadda". However, I've always found Leroux's original ending- where Erik "dies of love" (how exactly he does that is up to you)- much more tragically beautiful. That's all for now, unless I go back and edit a few things. Until next time and with much love,

_Titania of the Fae_


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